Don't Make Me Come Back There
by kkann
Summary: I will turn this car around! I swear, you two are worse than my kids. /Birthday gift for MayaDarkling featuring whiny!Nick and childish!Ellis./


**A/N:** The only thing I really have to say is Happy Birthday, MayaDarkling. Even if this is posted the day after. xD  
>Have some annoyed Nick and talkative Ellis on a road trip for your troubles.<br>Thanks fer bein' awesum, man. 8D  
>Enjoy my word vomit that started out okay and then spiraled into hell, bro. This could be better, 'm sorry xD<br>Takes place right after the end of Dead Center. c:

* * *

><p>Don't make me come back there!<br>I will turn this car around!  
>I'm not touching you...<br>Knock it off.  
>Grow up.<br>Would you quit it?

The only thing Nicholas hated more than cross-country road trips were taking cross-country road trips with complete strangers.

The only thing Nicholas hated more than taking cross-country road trips with strangers were taking cross-country road trips with Ellis.

This was going to be the longest ten hours of his life.

God damn you, Jimmy Gibbs Jr.

Aside from how screwed up things already were, one of the other major downsides to riding in the god-forsaken stock car was the fact that it lacked anything and everything in regards to a backseat, which meant that every pothole they drove over got a nice meet-and-greet with his tailbone. If his ass wasn't killing him by the time they got to New Orleans it would have been a friggin' miracle.

As it stood now, the only other pain he felt (aside from the many scraps and bruises he'd granted from their journey from the hotel to the mall) other than his aching ass was the burning in his ears as the kid next to him kept prattling on about something. He turned to Nick earnestly as he talked about something or other, a grin plastered on his mouth and eyes, hands gesturing before him as he spoke.

Nick didn't care, didn't he get that? Jesus.

He leveled him with an apathetic look, hoping to convey that message along with a clear 'I'm going to take a nap so shut up or I'll wring your hillbilly neck' but even _that_ didn't seem to go through.

Ellis—no, _Overalls_ (it would be much easier and more practical to _not_ learn names but damn if this one didn't stand out)—had been relieved of driving duties about an hour ago, the others finding little amusement in his game of trying to ram into every single friggin' zombie littering the road before they got to the highway coming to a swift end when he almost ran them off the road. He'd been none too pleased with being removed from his stupid hero's seat as Coach took over the role of chauffeur, but at least it gave one the chance to drive his favorite stock car and the other a new best friend to talk to death.

Nick was still slightly miffed about the fact that he wasn't allowed to drive.

Rochelle (god damn their names why did he know them) had declined the offer, preferring to sit shotgun and staring absently out the window and leaving Nick stuck in the imaginary backseat with _Ay-luss_.

Damn.

This was almost as bad as the time he and his ex-wife had had to pick out those stupid colors for their stupid wedding. What the hell was the difference between egg shell and creme? They were both almost not really white and were a bitch to get bloodstains out of.

Hell, he was just glad that he wasn't stuck listening to Redneck Radio, Home of the _Yee-Haw!_ hosted by Billy Bob and his cousin/sister/wife Billy Jo Ann or whatever the hell. Stereotypical, yeah, but it was cynicism that made this so far shitty road trip almost worth it.

In a way, Nick was almost missed the static of said radio before Rochelle had punched its lights out, annoyed by the grating sound that symbolized that not only was civilization and the world as they knew it on its last legs, but that they were also stuck with just each other and a dial tuned to Ellis' stupid hillbilly voice with the volume cracked up all the way.

OH DEAR GOD, DID HE EVER SHUT UP.

Nick was seriously considering punching him the back of the head. Like that crying bitch back at the mall, except with less claws and more silence.

Best car ride of his life, his ass. Shut up, Ellis.

Seriously. Be quiet.

Oh god, I don't care. I'll give you a dollar. Anything. Shut your mouth.

If anything, the glares he was sending at him only made him talk _more_. Shit, he was doing it on purpose, wasn't he? The little ass. It was like he _knew_.

Instead of saying something, Nick just grumbled irritably, leaning back (as far he could, seeing how they were cramped in the back like some disregarded luggage) and tried to get comfortable.

Coach drove over that pothole out of spite, didn't he? He could practically hear it going _helloooo!_ before bashing him in the ass.

Clenching his jaw and telling himself that losing it right then and there wouldn't get him anywhere because he was stuck in a car with a couple of people with a few loose screws Nick shifted again before realizing that smacking his head against the slanting roof of the stock car was not a good time. Muttering something to himself under his breath he got up and re-situated himself and ended up kicking Ellis in the knee.

The kid yelped but said nothing by the time Nick ended up with his back against the front and only seat of the car with his legs spread out before him. It really wasn't all that bad, considering—

Aw, shit.

Now they were making eye contact. Damn it. Motherfu—

"'Ey, Nick?"

In retrospect, he should have realized that turning around would mean that he would end up facing Ellis, but noooo where had that thought been thirty seconds ago when he needed it. Damn, now the kid was talking to him and he didn't have anywhere else to look, unless he wanted to study his shoes. Even then the kid was still in his line of vision.

Maybe he could just ignore him.

"Nick?"

Maybe. He. Could. Just. Ignore. Him.

He coughed.

MAYBE.

"What."

He wasn't just tired, he was annoyed, hungry, irritable, stuck with this hick that didn't seem to know that _be quiet_ meant 'shut the hell up god damn it,' and he was really just not in the mood.

Oh, and let him note the fact that they were in the middle of friggin' nowhere.

It was like friggin' _Deliverance._ Sweet Jesus.

Okay, so maybe he was just trying to make conversation, sure, whatever. Nick would give him that. _However,_ that wasn't an invitation to open the floodgates and let out a stream of word vomit. So what if he knew this guy that drove these cars—not stock cars, but open-wheel cars, y'know?—, and there was a goat and he liked malls and then there was that god damn Keith and his god damn stories and all of that other shit he didn't give a shit about. Your friend set himself on fire? And then he got tear-gassed? _Fascinating_.

Aw, hell, now he wasn't talking. Geez, he wasn't going to_ pout_, was he? How old was he anyway? Not that it mattered, but what the hell.

Nick gave him a good _whap_ to the shin just to make sure he wasn't dead. Not that he wouldn't mind dumping the body, he'd just prefer _not_ having to sit with the body for the next few hours. Of course, to Nick, a _whap_ included a firm fist and in this case the empty pistol he'd been toying with for the past twenty minutes.

He hadn't meant to hit him that hard, actually.

"_Ow!_ Shit, man!" The kid grunted, leaning forward and nursing the bruised limb with a dirty hand and scowling at him with an accusatory look.

And _of course_ Rochelle had to turn around right then. Of course.

"The hell are you two doing?" Nick hardly resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Ellis sitting up again with the roll of his shoulders. Neither of the men said anything, letting the stupid scenery outside the stupid window fly by. Rochelle apparently felt it necessary to target Nick. Of course. Because everybody loves Nick. "What did _you_ do?"

He couldn't help but turn and stare incredulously at her and her narrowed eyes. "_Me?_ Are you shitting me?"

What the hell.

"What're you blaming _me_ for?" The skin around her eyes tightened just so and he swore to God if that twerp was _grinning_..."What the hell, really? You're siding with Hay Seed?"

"Hey..." Came the dismal whine beside him, the would-have-been-grin becoming a frown and giving Nick very little satisfaction.

"Zip it, kid. The adults are talking." Ellis huffed at the snide comment from the conman, folding his arms and watching the older two with mild interest while Coach's grip on the steering wheel increased. The two men stared each other down for a moment before Nick turned back to the woman glaring at the both of them. "The hell are you siding with him for? He—"

"Oh _hell_ no." A low voice rumbled from the front seat, causing the three passengers to suddenly sit at attention for fear of being scolded. Well, Rochelle and Ellis, really. Nick just sat there all huffy and annoyed because Rochelle was picking on him. "Don't you go startin' that bullshit."

Just because Nick was annoyed didn't mean he wasn't go to _not _defend himself. He'd been unjustly accused, after all. He needed those man-points back.

"The hell are you talking about?"

"None of that _he started_ it shit." He huffed, twisting just enough to narrow his eyes at the two passengers crammed together in the back seat. Nick was spared for the most part though, seeing as he was siting right behind the big man. "I ain't drivin' all the way to Nawlins listenin' ta you two whine."

Nick had half a mind to jab his elbow into the seat he was leaning against, but thought better of it when he realized that doing so would probably result in the car veering off the road and into a ditch where they'd all die in a fiery inferno, and he didn't necessarily want that.

Especially when said ditch was currently in the middle of a corn field or whatever the hell they were driving through. It wasn't as if he had any plans to—

That son of a bitch.

Ellis smirked, looking all smug after having given the older man's leg a good jostle with his knee and all Nick wanted to do was slug him.

The hell if he was going to let him get away with that. He smacked the offending knee with the back of his hand, earning a muddy, booted foot to the side. He was just about to kick the hick in the head when Rochelle whirled around again, looking in every way an annoyed banshee from hell about to claw their eyes out. Hell, even Nick swallowed (only somewhat) nervously under her gaze.

"Would you two quit it already? Knock it off."

"Y'all 're worse than my kids."

The _kid_ snorted at that remark, arms folded just as bit tighter as he slouched back. He regarded Nick nervously when the latter shifted, once more trying to get comfortable on the uncomfortable floor that made up the ass-end of the damn stock car. He glowered at the younger man, following his example and crossing his own arms as he attempted to looked out the sliver of glass that made up what could have been a rear window. All he saw was smears of bits and pieces of zombie body parts and blood caked on along with dirt and then subtle hints of blue sky. And corn.

Holy shit, that was a lot of corn.

He could feel the car slowing just a bit and his heart rate decided to kick it up a notch at just that moment. If Coach stopped here it was just _asking_ for _Children of the Corn._ Holy God damn shit, this wasn't happening. As if the damn zombies weren't bad enough. _Jeepers Creepers_ all over again. But with corn. And demonic children.

_Creepers of the Corn_. This wasn't on his to-do list for his life. Then again, the zombie apocalypse hadn't been either, but this wasn't helping matters any.

God damn zombies with their god damn whatever the hell-ness and god damn Jimmy Gibbs Jr. with his god damn stock car and its god damn tank and god damn Ellis and his god damn stories and just...

GOD DAMN IT.

"Nick?"

He was going to kill him. He was going to friggin' kill him. He was going to wring his neck and kill him.

"Overalls..."

"Damn it, you two!" Coach suddenly slammed on the brakes, giving Nick whiplash and leaving Ellis to crack his head on the low roof of the car with a quick howl of pain. Nick almost felt bad for him. Almost, but not quite. Instead, he just swore up a storm, thankful that he hadn't snapped his neck in the process.

"Jesus," He hissed, spinning around and practically growling over the seat as he glowered at the two in the front. "What do you think you're—"

"I have _had it_ with you two bickerin' like a couple uh kids with all yer bullshit and whinin'. Next one uh ya ta make any kinda noise is _walkin'_ to Nawlins!"

"You're shitting me," Nick snickered, for once highly amused by one of the eldest man's threats. The ones back in the lobby of the hotel and out on the streets had been almost funny, but this one took the cake. Then again, he _had_ told them he didn't plan on sticking around long, didn't he?

...Shit. Here came his words biting him in the ass.

"Nope," The heavyset man replied firmly, about to consider asking Ellis to drive again because he'd never liked operating a car with a stick, but in all honesty getting the two men in the back to shut up...well, that was just beautiful. Quiet, beautiful peace.

"What the hell..." Nick mumbled, turning around and settling back into his place while Coach fought with the stock car for a few seconds. The kid went to say something and offer a word of advice, but from the expression on his face he was taking the half-assed warning way too seriously (strength in numbers, dipshit. Calm down.).

Well that was fine with Nick, really. Maybe he could finally take a nap or something to make the trip pass by that much faster. He'd spotted a sign for Vidalia, Georgia a few miles back, which left just five-hundred and sixty to go until they reached their destination and he was free of this sorry lot.

"You wanna get left behind, Nick?"

He frowned, but didn't say anything.

"Do ya, Nick?"

God damn it, he was not playing this game. He was thirty-five-years-old for Christ's sake, and he'd be damned if he was going to let someone treat him like a child. Or like Ellis.

Coach, clearly, had other plans.

"Nick?"

"No." He ground out the two letters through his teeth, earning a bemused giggle from Rochelle (who'd been remarkably silent throughout the miniature tirade) and a quirked brow from Ellis, though the latter said nothing. Coach 'hrmph'd,' pleased.

Oh God, were they were yet?

Eventually, their driver decided he didn't want to _be_ the driver with his knee acting up on him from being bent in the same position for so long, and the task of aiming the stock car in the general direction of New Orleans was once more relinquished to Ellis, much to the third man's chagrin. The lone woman really didn't seem to care, too caught up in wanting to be in Louisiana already to really say otherwise.

Ellis said absolutely nothing and simply drove, giving a slight inclination of his capped head to one of Rochelle's inquiries and leaving Nick to start performing strange yoga positions as Coach felt the need to stretch out and begin napping in what would have been the backseat.

It was like dying a slow death. A slow, agonizing, lonely death surrounded by three people he wanted nothing to do with.

Damn it all.

He blamed the car.

Everything was just pretty damn peachy and going _just fine_ as day slipped into dusk and they ended up driving through some New Orleans-wannabe town named Rayford and everything was just—

God damn grease ball bikers.


End file.
